


What It Feels

by transtwinyards



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Empath, Empath!Adam, M/M, YMMV on the relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 03:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5031859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transtwinyards/pseuds/transtwinyards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam observed, and he never minded. He was a creature of curiosity, raised on observation, not consultation. He was polite on purpose and on principle, he never crossed a line unless planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What It Feels

Adam was all about looking into small things. Simple gestures like offering an umbrella during a rainy day, or someone letting you borrow their pen for a whole period. This branched out from his hyper-awareness of debts and favors.

Adam was all about looking into small things, like standing next to someone, shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm; like two fingers on the inside of his wrist, gently pressing down on his pulse— _radial artery_ —as he was led somewhere; like his cheek pressed on someone’s lap on a lazy afternoon.

To Adam, these gestures were constant warmth, against his side, to his cheek, on the inside of his wrist. To Adam, these gestures were magnanimous; a myriad of possibilities based on how much pressure was applied, on intimacy, on emotion.

He twirled the pen in his hand, trying to reel his thoughts back to Latin, eyes focusing on the small hairs on the nape of Gansey’s neck. There were goose bumps on the skin of his arm as he felt a heavy gaze settle on him, then flick away, then back.

Adam took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

With a calculated flick of the wrist, the pen fell into the aisle between him and Ronan. Adam pushed back in his seat to lean down and pluck it off the floor. Ronan beat him to it, his large military boot— _against the dress code_ —thumping down the floorboards and kicking the pen to Adam’s side.

“Thanks,” Adam mumbled, pointedly not looking at Ronan. The professor up front paused to see what the noise was about, but went back to explaining the old dead language written in pink whiteboard markers.

Adam still had to lean down to grab the pen. Ronan’s heavy gaze was still on him as he leaned back in his seat, pen twirling in his fingers once more.

Adam was all about looking into small things, so he managed a small smile as he went back to scribbling down Latin notes.

* * *

 

“I don’t like the look you’re pulling right now, Parrish,” Ronan said honestly.

They were in the courtyard, waiting for Gansey to either tell them to go home early or invite Adam back to Monmouth. Ronan was leaning back on one of the plant boxes, looking as comfortable as someone sitting on a plant box could look, which looked surprisingly comfortable.

Adam sat across him, on one of the benches. Their bags were set beside him, and his socked feet were settled beside Ronan’s booted ones.

“What look,” Adam said, a bemused look on his face.

“ _That_ look,” Ronan said, index finger beside his dramatically squinted eyes. “Like you know something I don’t.”

Adam smirked, “I might know something you do.”

Ronan frowned, infinitely confused and still dramatically suspicious. Adam couldn’t help but laugh, because he really couldn’t pin down if Ronan was just pretending to not know what Adam could be on about or if he really thought that he was being subtle about everything.

“You’re fucking weird today, Parrish,” Ronan said, bumping Adam’s foot with his knee. Adam was overcome with affection, with trepidation, noticing that Ronan lingered and didn’t move away quickly after.

Ronan’s gaze was normal, casual. Adam brought himself back from his trance as soon as he spotted it.

“Yep, fucking weird,” Ronan confirmed, nodding sagely. Adam rolled his eyes.

* * *

 

Adam’s fingertips were cold, yearning for something warm to hold onto. He shifted to his side, restless and exhausted, on his mattress at St. Agnes.

His mind flitted back and forth to moments throughout the day: the orchid that sprouted when he touched the moss-covered tree; the smell of dew and grass; the sun bearing down on all of him and his friends, basking them with gold and endless youth. The sweltering heat of the Camaro, with Noah’s cold presence to his right, and Ronan’s foot tangled up with Adam’s.

He yearned—no, his _fingers_ yearned—for a warm presence, someone’s skin on his. There was no heat rolling in his stomach, though it was starting to. There were no dark thoughts processing in his mind, though it didn’t last long.

He thought of skin, miles and miles, his fingers running up and down, his mind processing emotions that weren’t his. He thought of the sighs and gasps that trailed after his touches. He thought of softly curved and prominent collarbones. He thought of black ink curling down, down, _down_.

He stopped thinking.

His fingertips tingled. They were no longer cold.

* * *

 

Adam often wondered on as to how certain things would feel when held. This natural instinct of curiosity was mostly what got him into trouble as a small child in a trailer park, so it was suppressed to mere observation.

He did not grow under Maura Sargent’s roof, did not have Blue’s knack for asking questions. He did not grow inside Richard Gansey the Second’s household, did not have the luxury to drown himself into whatever he wanted. He was not raised in the Barns like Ronan, did not have the freedom to roam and have his own land to stand on. Noah was a ghost, and no one cared what the dead could or couldn’t do, unless they saw Noah.

Adam observed, and he never minded. He was a creature of curiosity, raised on observation, not consultation. He was polite on purpose and on principle, he never crossed a line unless planned.

So as he and Ronan waited for Gansey, Ronan on Gansey’s bed, profile barely visible against the contrast of light, while Adam sat in the middle of Main Street with his Calculus book on his lap, Adam observed the sharp, needle-like hair on Ronan’s shaved head. Adam observed, and thought, and tried to remember if he had ever touched Ronan’s head before.

“You can touch it,” Ronan said abruptly. Adam jolted from his thoughts, realizing that he had been caught observing. No one’s been able to do that since he and Gansey had fought, that one night in DC.

Adam set his book down, next to the post office model. Adam bit down his questions, because Ronan gave chances to those who took it immediately, the suckers.

Adam was easily one of those suckers.

Besides, asking ‘can I really touch your hair’ would be incredibly weird and rude, and Ronan tried hard to make things seem the opposite most of the time.

Adam stumbled over to Gansey’s bed, landing heavily behind Ronan, his cotton-jacketed shoulder pressed onto Ronan’s leather-jacketed back. Ronan dipped his head almost reverentially, eyes closed, as Adam turned to hover his fingers on the needle-like strands, careful not to graze the scalp.

They were not needle-like, Adam was surprised to discover. “What would you look like if you grew it out?” Adam asked, just to break the tension a little. He knew that Ronan would give a sarcastic remark, or a biting joke. Ronan would smile that sharp smile, and Adam’s arms would feel warm, and his fingers would tremble lightly.

Instead of any of that happening, Ronan jolted, as if Adam’s asking was a somewhat surprising development, something he never expected. Accidentally, Adam’s fingers made contact with Ronan’s scalp.

A shiver ran across the both of them, and Ronan took a deep breath before saying, “A fucking idiot is what I’d look like.”

That wrenched a laugh out of Adam, making Ronan grin that same sharp grin that Adam had been anticipating. Adam felt the warmth spread out from his fingertips to his arms. He was sure he was blushing.

“I think you’d look good with curly hair,” Adam commented, knowing that Ronan probably had curls, because if Matthew had gotten something from Ronan, it would be the curls.

Adam imagined it: Ronan Lynch, all cutting edges, sharp face, sharp features, shark-like cars, and the contrasting soft, dark, curly hair. It was a ridiculously fitting image, a mix of Niall’s sharp edges, and Aurora’s soft features. For a brief moment, Adam wondered if Gansey had an old picture of Ronan, before Ronan started shaving his hair.

Instead of responding to Adam’s comment with a snarl, or a laugh, or a snort, Ronan canted his head backwards, and leaned towards Adam’s fingertips. It was a conscious decision for the both of them. They kept quiet as Adam ran his fingers all over Ronan’s shaved head.

It was a conscious decision, and Adam was quite sure that the warmth flowing in from his fingertips did not belong to him.

**Author's Note:**

> I just enjoy Maggie's approach on thought processes, and how these nerds really look a lot into the looks each characters give each other and into the ways they end up touching each other, and what they think about those little moments to themselves, each as individual pairs and altogether as a group.
> 
> I'm rambling here, anyway. Comments are appreciated!


End file.
